The Snowglobe
by hyugahime
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is the average American teenager, save the fact he's bored with life. Everything changes, however, when he meets a lonely spirit with a bloody past, entrapped within a snowglobe... AU, dark fic, rated M to be safe


_**The Snowglobe**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own nothin.'**_

Alfred is bored.

He sighs loudly, but the sound is lost in the cacophony of his surroundings. Starbucks is unusually rowdy today, and he grumbles moodily to himself while pulling out his cell for the twentieth time. He flips it open, and is unsurprised to see no new text messages.

Annoyed, Alfred sets his phone down with a little more force than necessary and looks around. There is no sign of his girlfriend, or anyone else he knows, and the lack of company only serves to strengthen his ire.

"Where is she?" he mutters angrily. Rose was not one to be late, about _anything_, and if she was she would at least _call…_

_If she's not here in five minutes, I'm gone,_ he thinks to himself.

He has been sitting in the booth for more than an hour, and though he's sent texts and left numerous voice mails, he has yet to receive a reply. Sighing again, he tries to ignore the stare of a particularly pretty young woman who sits nearby. Her eyes burn into the side of his head, and it is only the fact he adores his girl that stops Alfred from turning to meet the woman's gaze.

"C'mon, Rose…"

Three minutes later, to his great relief, his phone vibrates loudly. The blonde hastily flips it open, his eyes scanning the words of the text with growing disbelief.

_**Al, so srry! Smthin came up, cant be there rite now. Ill make it up to u later tonite! ;)**_

Alfred feels his jaw clench as he sets the phone down, not even bothering to reply. He knows if he does he won't be able to stop himself from saying some very mean things, and he is in no mood to argue with Rose. She has a tendency to cry a lot whenever they fight; he hates making people cry, however inconsiderate they might be.

Still.

_She couldn't have told me this shit an _hour_ ago?_ He thinks to himself, absently leaving a few dollars on the table as he stands. _My day off, and I'm sitting around looking like an ass in Starbucks…_

The door shuts loudly behind him as he turns and walks down the street. It's a Saturday, and aside from no school, it's also a break from a long week of hauling random stuff to and fro. He looks forward to his Saturdays, and to spend the first part of one waiting for an absentminded girlfriend when he could be _sleeping…_

_Calm down, Al. It was probably really important, _a little voice says in his mind.

Well what the fuck was she doing that she couldn't have texted him fifty-five minutes ago?

Alfred rubs at his eyes, narrowly avoiding stumbling into a passing woman. It's no use being mad, really. He knows the moment Rose turns those eyes on him he'll be putty in her well-manicured hands, and the sleepy blonde finds he doesn't mind that idea as much as he should. Yawning widely, he stops and leans against a streetlamp, trying to decide what to do with his day.

He's already up, so there's no use going back to sleep, and though he looks around at the little shops and pharmacy stores, there's nothing he sees that really interests him. His anger is starting to fizzle out, replaced once again by boredom - Alfred _hates_being bored.

The traffic light turns red. He crosses the street, scrolling through his contacts. Antonio told him the weekend before he's going out with some friends, and Francis is probably out molesting somebody. He doesn't really like Yao, and Arthur, his best friend, is out of town for the week. Feliks is alright, but makes him uncomfortable. He has a feeling if he calls Toris to hang out, Feliks will also tag along. Alfred is just about to give up hope when his eyes find one name he missed.

"Mathew!"

Wiping absently at his forehead (it's hot today!), the bespectacled blonde hurriedly clicks on the name, waiting impatiently for his twin to pick up as he walks. The sun beats down brightly overhead – he wonders what possessed him to wear his bomber jacket, of all things, today. Alfred quickly sheds it and has just tied its arms around his waist when he hears Mathew's voice in his ear.

"_What?"_

The young man pouts at his brother's snappish tone. "Dude, what crawled up your butt today? I just wanted to say hi to my bestest bro…"

He makes it so that his voice sounds hurt, and is unsurprised when Mathew sighs wearily on the other end. _"What, Alfred? What was so important you had to wake me up?"_

Alfred glances down at his watch. "Matt, it's 10:30. This is around the time you usually get up, anyway."

"_So?"_

"C'mon, let's hang out!"

There is a brief silence, in which Alfred swears he can hear his brother rubbing at his temples.

"_**No."**_

There is a click, followed by the monotone buzz of the dial tone. For the second time that day, Alfred stares at his phone in disbelief. He pauses on the sidewalk, ignoring the curious stares from passersby as he redials Mathew's number.

He picks up on the third ring.

"_**What?"**_

"Did you just hang up on me?"

Alfred's boredom is relieved for the next ten minutes as he and his twin exchange insults. It is only when Mathew's start to become particularly scathing that he calls a truce, only to be ignored by his brother, who is too lost in his rant to hear him.

"_-egotistical, self-righteous, judge-mental, _idiot_ I have ever had the displeasure of speaking to-"_

The blonde quickly snaps his phone shut, effectively silencing his brother's sharp words.

_Guess Matt's not a morning person either…geez. _

He scratches his head, sighing for what seems like the umpteenth time today. Greenford, Virginia is a small town, but surely there's _something_ worth doing, right? He looks around one last time and briefly considers going into Malgreens, just because, when something else catches his eye.

There, in the large alleyway directly across from himself, is a large sign that says, in bold black letters,

**THE VARGAS' BROTHERS' SHOP OF MAGICAL MAYHEM, GRAND OPENING!**

Alfred frowns.

"What kind of grand opening takes place in an _alley?"_

Not a smart business move, from what he can see. Still, the young man's interest is piqued - he eagerly crosses the street and makes his way toward the sign. Up close, he sees an arrow pointing him further down the alley, and he follows the directions. Soon he is standing at the entrance of a large shop. Its windows are wide and made of glass, and the inside looks warm and welcoming. He can vaguely see shapes moving about. Perhaps he isn't the only one to notice the sign?

Alfred steps closer to one of the windows and peers in, his eyes widening in awe at the many trinkets and gadgets he sees. He has never believed in magic – that's more Arthur's style – but the blonde finds himself impressed with the things he sees. An old box, carved around the sides with a language he can't read, particularly fascinates him, and his nose presses closer to the glass to get a better look.

"That's a music box."

Alfred jumps. Whipping his head in the direction of the cheerful voice, he is surprised to see a small, slightly older young man leaning out the doorway of the shop. His hair is auburn, like autumn leaves, with an odd little curl sticking out, and his eyes are a warm hazel that stares curiously at him. Alfred plucks at the collar of his t-shirt, embarrassed.

"Ah...sorry."

He doesn't know why he's apologizing, but the young man smiles at him. "There's nothing to be sorry for! You can come in and look, if you want to."

He wants to say no, but there is something about the sweetness of the other's expression that makes him say, "Sure."

The auburn-haired man beams at him, and before Alfred knows what is happening, he's tugged inside the shop. As the door closes behind them, he looks around and is surprised at the number of people he sees milling about.

"Ve~! Look, Romano, another customer!"

Alfred notices a slight accent in the older man's voice, and opens his mouth to ask about it when another man comes up to them. The blonde is startled at how similar he is to the first man; aside from the hair, which is a darker color, and the angry scowl on his face, they are nearly identical. The new man speaks angrily in (Is that Italian?)a language Alfred doesn't know, and the Auburn-hair shrinks at the angry flow of words. He begins to grow angry at the scowling little man. How could anyone yell at someone who is so obviously nice?

Alfred moves to say something in defense of the first man when the other abruptly stops. It seems he has finally noticed the bespectacled blonde, for he turns from what is probably his twin and stares at the taller male, his scowl fading to shock, and then a slight frown.

"You came to buy?"He says gruffly, in English. His voice is much deeper than his brother's. Alfred is about to say no when he glances at Auburn-hair. He looks like he's sulking. "Um…yeah. Yeah, I did."

The shorter man nods, mostly to himself. After a moment, he turns and walks away, gesturing for the younger man to follow. Alfred does, and Auburn-hair moves with him. As he is led behind the check-out counter and into a room further back, the small man beside him whispers, "I'm sorry about my brother. He's very mean sometimes, but he's also very nice."

Alfred finds that very hard to believe, but keeps his mouth shut as the other continues, "I'm Feliciano Vargas. Romano and I manage this shop together."

_Feliciano, huh? Definitely Italian. _

"Nice to meet you, Feliciano. I'm Alfred Jones."

He reaches and shakes hands with the Italian, who smiles brightly back at him.

"Ahem."

The other Italian has led them into a small, dark room. It's cramped to the ceiling with shelves filled with all sorts of odd little things, many of them jars containing items that make his stomach queasy; snakes, eggs too large to be from chickens, what looks like an eel, and he could swear that one at the very back has an eyeball in it…

Boxes decorate the floor, filled with things the brothers have yet to fully unpack, and the entire wall to his right is shelved with scrolls, old and yellowed like the ones he's seen in movies. Romano is standing in the center of the room, and in his hands is a velvet box. It is large, and the dark-haired Italian holds it away from his body like it's contaminated with something.

"Here," he says harshly, forcefully shoving the box in a surprised Alfred's arms. He opens his mouth to make a sound of protest when it emits a powerful _thrum. _The vibration is so strong he nearly drops the item. There is a moment of silence, in which Alfred stares at the thing in surprise. He looks up to glare at Romano, but the older man is not looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the box, and now that Alfred looks closely he can see there is fear in the other's brown eyes.

"_Fratello?"_

Feliciano says softly. Romano ignores him. Slowly, he looks at Alfred.

Alfred doesn't like the look.

"What is this?" he says, trying not to sound angry. He'll never admit it, but Romano is starting to scare him - not to mention the older man had shoved the thing at him so harshly the breath had nearly been knocked from his lungs.

"It's a snowglobe," Romano says quietly, "and it's yours now. Free of charge."

Alfred looks down at the box.

A snowglobe?

Sure, he likes the little things, but he's not sure he wants any part of whatever is making the dark-haired Italian so pale.

"What if I don't want it?"

Romano's face tightens. "Take it."

Feliciano steps forward. "Fratello, do you really mean to give away the –"

"Si," he says sharply and, turning to his brother, whispers something lowly in Italian.

Feliciano says something in reply, glancing at Alfred as he does so.

"Sei il fratello sicuro?"

"Si. Questo e il modo in cui deve essere."

Alfred watches, confused, as the two Italian brothers turn to him. Romano's expression is a cross between pitying and wary, while Feliciano looks on him with even greater curiosity than before.

Feeling awkward, Alfred wonders when his day took a turn for the weird side. He looks down at the box, his eyes finding the silver clasp that is holding it closed. Eager to distract himself from the stares of the twins, he moves to open it.

"No!"

Romano's voice is shrill, his eyes wide. "You can't open it here!"

"And why not?"

"Because-"

"Romano, you're scaring him." Feliciano turns and smiles apologetically at Alfred. Touching his brother's arm, he says, "I'm sorry about this, Alfred. My brother…sometimes he can see bits of the future, and he says you were meant to have the snowglobe."

The blonde feels his eyes widen. Glancing at the scowling Romano with newfound interest, he mutters, "The…the future? Really?"

Had anyone else told him this, he'd have laughed in their faces, but he had a hard time imagining Feliciano as a liar. As the Italian nods solemnly, Alfred decides the shorter man must actually believe what he's saying.

_He does look gullible…_

"He doesn't believe you, Feliciano." Feliciano straightens. "Oh, but it's true! Tell him, Romano –"

The dark-haired Italian waves his brother away, face darkening as he looks at the bespectacled blonde.

"Look. You don't have to believe us. Personally, I don't give a shit if you do. The snowglobe is yours now, you touched it. Be grateful I'm not charging anything."

Alfred frowns. "What does me touching it have to do with anything…?"

Romano looks away. "You'll see," he mutters.

Without another word he leaves the room, and Alfred has no choice but to follow him out. The shop is bright compared to the room he just left, and he raises a hand to rub at his eyes. The box thrums quietly in his hands. Alfred wonders what is causing it.

He turns to speak to Feliciano, but the Italian is looking worriedly at his brother. After glancing between the two of them, the blonde decides its time to go. He would've liked to talk to the auburn-haired man some more - he has a feeling they'd be great friends if given the chance –but it is clear he wants to speak to his brother about something, probably him. With a little sigh, he says,

"Well, it's time for me to go."

Feliciano starts, as though he'd forgotten he was there, and begins to apologize.

"I'm really, really sorry," he says, "I know we must seem very weird –"

Alfred waves a hand. "It's fine, really. I was bored before, this was a welcome distraction!"

Feliciano smiles.

The two talk for a couple of minutes, and Alfred happily exchanges his number with the slighter man. After agreeing to hang out sometime, the two part ways, Alfred glowing with the knowledge that he's made a new friend.

Ten minutes later, the blonde lets himself into his shared apartment, sighing blissfully at the cool gust of air that greets him as he opens the door. He happily drops his jacket on the floor, sets the velvet box on the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, where he pulls out a half-eaten cheeseburger from the fridge and warms it up in the microwave.

It's quiet, but that's to be expected. Francis has probably come by and picked Mathew up for…whatever they do on Saturdays. He's never liked silence, but the time to himself is worth it. Plopping heavily on the faded sofa he switches on the TV and flicks through the channels, frowning when he finds nothing of interest. Finally, he settles on SpongeBob.

"F is for friends who do stuff together…"

Humming along with the tune, Alfred tilts his head and notices the little velvet box nearby. He stares at it for a moment, then turns back to the television, swallowing the last of his burger. A moment later his gaze switches back to the item. He doesn't know why, but it's bothering him, just sitting there.

The blonde moves a pillow over it to block the thing from sight, and resumes watching the episode. It is not until the next show starts that he feels something is off. Glancing around uneasily, he tries to shake the feeling he's not alone. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and seconds later, so does Alfred.

"Mathew?" he calls out quietly. Silence answers him. His twin's keys are missing from their usual spot on the key rack, but Alfred suddenly doesn't like the feeling he's alone anymore, and hopes his brother misplaced them. A shudder rolls down his spine. The room had been wonderfully cool before, but the goosebumps rising along his skin alert Alfred to the fact the temperature is dropping.

"Mathew?" he calls again, desperately hoping he's wrong, that his quieter counterpart is actually in his room sleeping. Alfred will wake him up, and he'll be angry, but after a few sugary words on Alfred's part he'll get up and make the two of them a huge stack of pancakes, and –

Alfred freezes as cold, cold fingers touch the skin of his neck.

He feels his eyes widen, his muscles tense as though to flee, yet he can do nothing but stand there, frozen, as the hand moves from his neck to his shoulder, gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

His heart pounds violently inside his chest, to the point he feels it will burst, and his blood pumps so loudly in his ears that he almost doesn't hear the voice at his ear, whispering things he doesn't understand. The hand tightens; he feels his skin tear beneath the fingers and warm blood slide down his shoulder.

A scream finally works its way out of his throat, shrill and terrified. Alfred shoves away from the entity with all his strength and bolts across the room, tripping over various items as he does so. Once in his own room he stumbles and falls, still screaming at the top of his lungs. Panicked, he staggers to his feet and slams the door with all his might. Alfred locks it, then pushes every piece of furniture excluding his bed in front of the door.

"Oh my God, oh my God…"

The blonde backs away and collapses on his bed, distractedly rubbing at his wounded shoulder. He's dreaming, he has to be dreaming…

The door shakes violently and Alfred screams. He scurries to the end of the bed, his back pressed against the headboard, eyes as round as saucers as they stare at the quivering wooden entrance to his room.

_This can't be happening._

Alfred is quiet when the door stops shaking. The new silence, to him, is as scary as the noise.

He waits for a long moment, afraid to breathe. As he sits he remembers days long past; of boogeymen and dark corners, and Arthur's scowling face

"_Honestly, Alfred. You're almost ten years old, grow up already. There's no such thing as monsters. Repeat it with me…"_

"There's no such thing as monsters," he whispers. Arthur's voice, annoyed and accented, gives him courage, and Alfred slowly, cautiously, stands. Clenching his fists to keep them from shaking, he edges toward the door, all the while whispering the phrase like a mantra.

"There's no such thing as monsters."

His voice, hushed and scared, is deafeningly loud in the silence, and he hears his heartbeat thundering in his ears again. A part of him is screaming for him to _run, run, run,_ but he ignores it. Slowly, his hands shaking, he moves his dresser to the side - then his wardrobe, his nightstand and work desk. Once the old wooden chair is moved aside, he simply stands there.

"There's no such thing as monsters."

Alfred knows that when he opens the door he won't see anyone, that the hand he felt digging into his back will have been a figment of his overactive imagination, just like all the other times in his past – a shadow confused with a creeping monster, a fluttering window curtain mistaken for a shimmery ghost.

His shoulder throbs, and Alfred can't help thinking that this is far more serious than mere tricks of the eye.

Holding his breath, the blonde reaches to unlock his door.

"There's no such thing as –"

_Whoom._

The door slams open so hard he can hear the air whistle. Alfred screams and throws himself back in time to avoid being hit, his back hitting the hard floor with a painful 'thump.'

He begins to cry, infuriated with himself at his inability to _move _he's so scared. The blonde keeps his gaze on the floor as he sobs, unwilling to look up at the thing for fear of what he'll see. He waits with heaving breaths for those cold, cold fingers to dig into his flesh, but nothing happens.

After a long moment, when nothing grabs him, Alfred looks up to see only air in his doorway.

Getting to his feet, he looks around warily. His eyes are still wet with tears, but he brushes them away. It takes him a while to gather the courage to step back into his living room. Nothing is there. Sniffling, he makes sure to turn on every light before he realizes the temperature has returned to normal. Everything is where he left it, save for the few things he knocked over in his haste to get away from…from _whatever_ it is that touched him…

Alfred shivers and scans his surroundings one last time. iCarly is playing on the TV, and his hamburger wrapper sits, discarded, on the couch. His eyes find the little velvet box he has yet to open, and he pauses. Tilting his head, a part of him briefly wonders if the box has anything to do with what just happened. The denser part of him scoffs at the idea.

_Feliciano's _way _too nice to give me something _haunted_…_

Still…

Alfred remembers the powerful thrum he felt earlier, and Romano's fearful eyes. He is wary as he approaches the box.

Reaching out, he hesitantly runs his fingers across the dark blue velvet, closing his eyes when his panic fades to a state of calm he can't remember ever feeling before.

_What...?_

Alfred feels his eyes drooping, his body relaxing. Confused, he pulls his hand away, and the feeling vanishes.

_That was weird._

Moving away from the box, he rubs at his eyes, still a little spooked. He hopes Mathew will return soon, that he might curl up with his twin and feel a little less scared.

"Aw, man. Man, man, man…." Alfred turns to enter his room. The whole incident has exhausted him, he's too afraid to look at his injured shoulder, and at the moment all he wants is to go to sleep. The possibility of a dream about hamburgers makes him feel a little better; he's already taken three steps towards the doorway when he pauses again.

Looking back, he sees the little box. Without really knowing why, he turns back and scoops it up in his hand, surprised at the warmth that shoots up his arm. Frowning at the little thing, he moves towards his door. The item thrums all the while, almost as though it were _happy_ or something…

_First it vibrates, then it makes me sleepy…_

By the time he's burrowed himself comfortably beneath the sheets, Alfred's fear has ebbed away to a stark wariness. The box's thrumming makes him feel better, so he holds it tight to his chest, trying to ignore the sting of his wounded shoulder_. Mattie will be home soon._ The thought gives him comfort. After what seems like a long, long time, his eyelids flutter shut. Alfred sighs happily as his conscious retreats to the world of dreams.

He doesn't feel the hand gently caressing his cheek.

As the ghost leans down, the box glows in Alfred's arms.

A/N: I love stories where Ivan is the ghost/demon/vampire, etc. Sadly, the majority of them aren't finished. I thought I'd have a go at writing one, hopefully it turns out a little different from the other ones. xD

Reviews are appreciated!


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